


like a river flows, surely to the sea

by enoughiamagod



Series: Bondlock is Go [7]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), bondlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Bondlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Valentine's Day, ahhh they're in love, i will never let this ship die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 23:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughiamagod/pseuds/enoughiamagod
Summary: a sweet Valentine's Day Sherlock/John ficcan be read alone or as part of the Bondlock is Go series.





	like a river flows, surely to the sea

**Author's Note:**

> same note: repost of old work.

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Sherlock is watching John in the hours before the dawn breaks. He knows John has already got him something, also knows where he’s hidden it. He hasn’t looked though, because John will be so disappointed if he doesn’t get to see the look of surprise on his face. John thinks Sherlock doesn’t know, and Sherlock’s content to leave it that way. 

John certainly isn’t expecting anything from Sherlock.  _ Sentiment _ , he’d label it, and besides a gift from Sherlock is probably not getting shot at for a week, or a severed head or something ghastly like that and no thank you, John is quite content without any gifts from Sherlock.

This is why Sherlock wants to surprise John. 

John’s chest rises and falls, and the army doctor is curled on his side, facing Sherlock, and his blond hair dusts the pillow and his lips are parted slightly ( _ slow and steady, like John himself, resting heart rate relatively low) _ . The dimness of the room lies along the curves of John like another blanket, and Sherlock, impulsively, reaches out and gently touches John’s hand. Light, like a feather, and John does not stir, as Sherlock knows he won’t. 

In three hours, he will get up, and start the water for John’s coffee. But for now, he lays out and closes his eyes. 

_ John. _

All of John’s favorite things fill up the room in his mind palace. There is a cup of tea, and a pack of biscuits, and the newspaper, and warm laundry, and jumpers, and fires in the fireplace, and good whiskey, and hand-holding and Sherlock smiles at this. There is the face John makes when he is happy and the face John makes when he is angry, and the face he uses when Sherlock has done something unusual and gentle. 

John moves next to him, sleepily nuzzling into Sherlock, and his chest swells.

When John wakes, Sherlock brings him coffee ( _ black, piping hot, favorite mug _ ) and John smiles at him. 

They move easily together in the kitchen, a quiet, comforting routine of ease that speaks  _ love  _ louder than any grand gesture, and John sheepishly reveals a small box, wrapped military-neat, and hands it to Sherlock.

“I thought you might like it,” he says simply, and there is pleasure in his voice, so Sherlock thanks him and opens it. 

It’s a watch, sleek and cool, minimalist in design, and it is so perfectly Sherlock that he is rendered speechless. It is absolutely stunning and Sherlock slips it onto his wrist, and gently taps John on the shoulder.

“I have something for you too,” he says, and leads John into the living room and shoves him into his chair. 

The sonata he plays is entitled “John”, and is slow and sweet and steady, and John says nothing, but he is moved, deeply, and if he presses his lips to Sherlock’s curls and Sherlock lets him, well, it is merely the tide returning to the shore, coming home.


End file.
